You're a Mean One
by weatherwings
Summary: Hermione is forced to take time off over christmas, and declines her annual invite to The Burrow. Luckily, spending the holidays curled up in your apartment is far more enjoyable with an equally grinchy companion! The rules are simple: No decorations, no tree, no work, no extraneous holiday baking and most happily of all, no visitors. Unfortunately, cheesy festive films aren't out.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:**_ I am not JKR, I am not profiting from the work, and much to my own lingering sense of despair, I do not own Severus Snape :(_

Note: There could be an argument that it's too early for a christmas one-shot just yet; But I'm posting this up now and I'll have it done by christmas! And to all the readers of Utterly Barbaric, please forgive the diversion! ALSO, this won't be as fluffy as it seems ;) Please leave any comments or reviews, it always makes my day :)

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You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch  
You really are a heel  
You're as cuddly as a cactus, you're as charming as an eel  
Mr Gri-inch!  
You're a bad banana with a... greasy black peel.

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Jenkins had all but forced her to take the two weeks off. While her boss had claimed to be acting in the spirit of the holidays and genially looking out for her best interests, Hermione knew on some level the older witch was simply after some peace and quiet over the holiday season. The legal rights of the Mediterranean mere-people could wait apparently.

Hermione didn't know who was happier about the arrangement, her boss, or the slightly over-enthusiastic Molly, who had issued an invitation to stay for the holidays and seemed intent on bullying her into acceptance. With Hermione's own family, or rather, the childless Wendell and Monica Wilkins, still residing in Australia, Molly had begun treating her as her very own daughter and couldn't bear the thought of her spending Christmas alone.

Which was all very altruistic and had nothing to do with the intermittently single Ronald who would be staying at the Burrow after his latest spit with Lavender. A small part of her knew that Molly had probably swathed the house in mistletoe already.

In the end, she'd let begged off attending the celebrations, claiming there was some pressing personal research she needed to complete. Molly, the rest of the Weasleys and Harry had all been disappointed but not particularly surprised at her refusal. Apparently the notion of Hermione curled up in bed, alone with a book, was all to predictable.

Which is why she'd made no effort to correct their faulty assumption.

True, Hermione had spent most of the last week in bed. But Severus had proved far better company than any book she owned. Plus there were those few alternating hours they both curled up together with their own books.

Severus Snape had very nearly refused her own request to stop in together for the next two weeks; He had denied the charm of his own company, especially over Christmas. He was not what one would term, the most festive of spirits. But in the end, when Hermione pointed out that she could hardly continue their secret affair while under the roof of the Weasley matriarch, he had relented.

Hermione had made it worth his while of course.

Holed up in her London flat, Hermione and Severus had formed the perfect festive arrangement: No decorations, no tree, no work, no extraneous holiday baking and most happily of all, no visitors.

It wasn't until the 23rd that Hermione's incessant need to be busy spoiled everything, much to Severus' own amusement. He had taken great delight in sitting silently across the table while she attempted to work; devoid of his usually restricting robs of course. Wearing only a smirk as he studiously ignored her frequent irritated glances in favour of the book he was pretending to read, Hermione was forced to concede defeat. She was sure the Mediterranean mere-people would understand.

Hours later, after she had successfully wiped the smirk of Severus' face, she'd attempted to busy herself in the kitchen. Of course, he again tut-ed from the sitting room that she was breaking their rules once more, but his reprisal had no edge. Hermione could only presume he was either too tired to distract her, or hungry enough to suffer the breach.

She laid out the small coffee table that served as her work desk, bookcase and dining table, with two placemat, plates and her best silver. She debated from the kitchen as to whether or not spaghetti even counted as holiday cooking. Severus had stubbornly argued that it would in Italy.

The dispute had lasted all through dinner, Hermione reasoning that dishes like rice and Asian cuisines were also eaten at Christmas by some cultures, but weren't considered festive foods, and as such it all came down to context. Severus continued baiting her nonetheless, until in the end the discussion was left out, along with the washing up, as they retired to the bedroom.

It was almost noon before Hermione got the dishes to the sink, washing them by hand as Severus put on a pot of coffee. Later as he sat reading the paper on the sofa, cursing sporadically at the stupidity of the ministry and the hacks at the prophet, Hermione curled by his side and let her eyes roam the apartment. It was Christmas Eve, but there were no signs in the room that marked the occasion. Even warm and comfortable, with a content Severus at her side, Hermione couldn't fight back a wave of melancholy. Christmas with her parents had been such an occasion; Christmas Eve had been a hum of activity and preparations. Cleaning, cooking, last minute Christmas calls, then when the day was finally done they'd all settled down to suffer through whatever tacky Christmas film was playing. Most of the time, even as a child, Hermione had only paid partial attention, choosing to read while the film played out. But even so, she found herself missing the tradition of it all. Burrowing further into Severus' side, Hermione scanned the small pile of videotapes stacked in her TV unit.

Even as she fell further and further into the magical world after school, following a career in the ministry and renouncing the bulk of her familial ties, Hermione had made a point of keeping a firm grip of muggle culture. Equipping her flat with a VCR and stocking up periodically on whatever films took her fancy were just one way of achieving that end. Most of them were either thrillers or comedies. She had a hard time staying tuned to anything within the romantic comedy genre and after the event of the Wizarding war, she didn't much fancy terror flicks either. Looking through the bulk of her collection Hermione's smile lit up, when she remembered one of her more recent purchases, it'd only come out a month or so ago and she'd bought it purely on the assumption it would be a laugh.

Slipping of the sofa without comment, Hermione kneeled at the base of the TV unit and began setting up the VCR. She could palpably feel Severus' curiosity as she turned the television on and set about getting the right AV channel. Sparing him a glance over her shoulder, he quickly took up his paper once more, feigning complete nonchalance to her activities.

Honestly, for all the man disparaged Gryffindor house, he had the pride of a wounded lion. Hermione spared him the trial of asking what she was doing.

"You don't mind if I watch a film do you?" she asked, attempting to match his own indifference.

"Not at all. What are we watching?"

Hermione turned back to the TV unit, not letting him catch her appreciative smirk. She had to give him credit for his dedication.

Pressing play she made her way back to the sofa and lay out with her head resting upon his lap.

"The Grinch." She answered casually, hoping beyond hope he wouldn't recognize the title of the old cartoon or the Dr Suess work it  
stemmed from.

His groan put such foolish hopes to rest.

"This is breaking the rules Hermione." He grumbled, all the while flinging his paper aside and stretching his long legs onto the low coffee table, careful not to disturb her head. For all his complaints, it was clear he'd picked up on her slightly somber mood and was happy to let her have her way.

"This is not for work, it doesn't count as a decoration, it didn't require extensive baking or cooking, and while it means we will be focusing on the images of people it doesn't technically counts as a visitor, so I think you'll find I'm completely within the rules… Professor."

Severus only grunted at that.

"Just remember what happened the last time you called me that, witch."

Hermione smile up at him before turning her attention to the screen, as the narrator's voice dubbed over the films intro.

"I thought this was a cartoon." Severus sounded from above her, the confusion clear in his voice despite the drawling tone.

"It's a modern remake. It's meant to be quite funny."

Once again a disgruntled groan was her only answer.

"If you're going to moan the entire way through you can clear off and I'll watch it by myself." Hermione warned, sitting up to better glare at him. Severus raised both hands in a sign of peace, before shifting his position and lying fully against the back of the lounge, leaving space for her to recline in front. When Hermione initially bought such a deep sofa, this particular image hadn't been at the forefront of her mind, but it had all worked out quite nicely.

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Note: So there we are! This fic will work best if you've seen the Grinch obviously, but I hope you all still enjoy it!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I am not JKR, these are not my original characters and I didn't even proof read this one myself! Once again Tara is amazing and owns my soul.**

Note: Total props to Geekydork who supplied the kick up the arse I so sorely needed to get this finished, and my humbled apologies for the last minute update: It will all be stunningly completed on Boxing day or you have my permission to take my laptop away :) Hope you enjoy and a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!

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_Fiction reveals truth that reality obscures. _

_**Ralph Waldo Emerson**_

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Had someone told Hermione three years ago that she'd spend her Christmas Eve curled up on the sofa with Severus Snape, watching a cheesy holiday film, she would have directed them to St Mungo's immediately. As it was, they both sat quietly watching the film carry out into a sweeping camera shot of snow capped comically curved mountains, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The small exuberant town of Whoville was bursting with an abundance of red and greens; small humanoids- resembling neither elves, goblins nor dwarves- were decked out in the most eccentric of holiday dress. Lights and ornaments covered every possible surface and the procession of a festive marching band circled an enormous snow-covered Christmas tree.

The set was electric with atmosphere and Hermione couldn't help the fond nostalgic glow that began to plague her: Hagrid trailing giant trees through the snow, Professor Flitwick's mesmerizing levitation charms and the completed, breath-taking grandeur of the great hall.

As the scene cut to a bustling shop, filled with busy, seemingly frantic customers, Hermione felt her fonder festive memories shrivel up: Oh how she hated Christmas shopping. There was a reason all the magical gifts she purchased were owl-order. If there was nothing Harry and Ron fancied in the mail order magazine then the boys would have to do without.

Hermione was shifted out of her reverie as the first speaking character- a somewhat dumpy middle aged 'Who'- began reciting a comically long shopping list. Hermione smiled at the typical Dr. Seuss vocabulary the film was emulating and wondered absentmindedly if Severus would be able to appreciate it.

His form behind her remained silent and she had to wonder whether he'd maneuvered her into this position, not to distract her as she'd initially expected, but to avoid her inspection. Hermione only had the sensation of his body behind her to judge his reactions, but she was ready to assume his seemingly peaceful presence against her could be interpreted as his silent capitulation to her wishes.

He could be bored, he could be smiling, could be yawning, grinning, growling or gushing enthusiastically at the fantastic set design and atmosphere (somehow she doubted the last one) but the fact was he was still here, watching it with her, by choice.

"Cindy Lou! Honey?"

The 'Who' on screen captured her attention once more, abandoning his list and calling out instead for his little girl who was revealed beneath a staggering stack of packaged presents. If the little girl's doe eyes, blonde shiny locks and surprisingly introspective attitude to the festivities were anything to go by, Hermione could safely conclude that this was meant to be the protagonist of the film. Which was odd- as far as Hermione could remember from reading the books as a child, the little Cindy Lou was no more than two.

Creative license she supposed.

In a matter of moments, a sweeping crowd of shopping 'Whos' and a shrieking shop assistant stole the shot from the tiny who daughter, and with one last glance at the small who-town, the narrator's voice returned.

"_Yes, Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot. _

_But the Grinch, who lived just north of Whoville,_

_Did not. "_

As a single green, fur matted hand came into view, an amalgamation of a muggle periscope replaced the camera lens as it were, stalking the ascent of four, boisterous, taunting youths up the side of a harsh snow covered mountain.

Two near identical and obviously immature teenage boys raced up the steep slope, egged on by the two attractive female girls trailing behind them.

"_Last one to the tops a stinky old Grinch!" _

"_Guys, where are we, I think we should go back." _

"_What?! You're scared of the Grinch!" _

"_No!"_

"_They say he lived up here in a big cave, and only comes down when he's hungry for the taste of Who-flesh!" _

"_Oh drew_" the tall, thin blonde slapped one of the boys here:Hermione couldn't for the life of her keep track of which was which.

It seemed as though Fred and George had found themselves immortalized in fiction. She had an unbidden mental image of the two redheaded pests racing down the dungeon passageways to bother Hogwarts' own resident "Grinch"

While smiling softly at this thought, Hermione nevertheless jumped at an amused snort from Severus behind her. If he'd been in her mind again, she'd hex him to kingdom come. Twisting, she couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at his outburst; Severus didn't seem abashed in the least.

"Potter and Weasley." He murmured in response to her confused look.

Hermione tore her attention back to the screen, now taking in the two 'Who' boys in a different light.

__

Two adolescents running wildly and unconcernedly up a dangerous mountain, leading others along and irritating a grouchy anti-hero as they did so?

Well, perhaps he had a point.

"No, they're much more Fred and George." Hermione countered, just for the sake of doing so. She was unexplainably gratified that Severus was contributing to the movie experience, rather than just sullenly suffering through it.

Again, Severus gave an amused grunt; partly at her comment and partly as the two 'Who's- whether Harry and Ron or Fred and George- got blasted back down the mountain. Hermione hid her smile as they both turned their attention to the screen.

The Narrator continued, infusing the traditional Grinch script against a new sequence of the disguised Grinch visiting (read: terrorizing) Whoville

"_The Grinch hated Christmas, the whole Christmas season. Now please don't ask why, no one quite knows the reason. It could be that his head wasn't screwed on just right, It could be perhaps that his shoes were too tight"_

Biting her bottom lip, Hermione almost cackled, her shakes of laughter going far from unnoticed by the wizard at her back. It took only small poke at her waist to make Hermione spill.

"So all we had to do this whole time was buy you some new shoes?" She coyly asked, earning herself another dig in the ribs for her cheek.

"I wondered how long it would take before the Grinch-like aspersions on my character began." Severus only drawled in response, but Hermione could plainly hear the rich tones of amusement behind his voice.

"You're not Grinch-like. You ARE the Grinch." Hermione countered, fondly smiling up at him before turning back to the screen where the Grinch, after vandalizing the Who's vehicles and knocking out a merchant vendor, had been replaced again by the small Cindy Lou; the shot dominated by her ridiculously high voice and still higher hair.

"_Boy, nothing beats Christmas right?"_ The dumpy-dad figure asked, precariously balancing a pile of perfect presents.

"_I guess"_ the small Cindy replied

"_You guess?"_

"_Well it's just that I look around at you and mum and everyone getting all kabobbled, doesn't this seem… superfluous?" _

Severus didn't so much as snort at this, as loudly snigger; Hermione was startled to feel him actually shake with laughter.

"What now?" she asked, somewhat annoyed at missing the joke.

"If I'm to be the Grinch, in this Christmas debacle, you're her. I'd bet my last cauldron you were using words like superfluous from the age of 5."

Hermione promptly opened her mouth to argue, only to close it again and admit defeat with a rueful grimace. After all, her vocabulary had always been quite extensive.

Deciding to ignore the irrefutable remark, Hermione fixed her attention to the screen once more, as Harry and Ron- No! She was not going to think of her two best friends as such! Even if the two who-boys simply happened to run head first into danger without considering the fall out, she was not letting the association stick for the rest of the movie. Not even when the two characters in question ran screaming and distressed into the center of town, covered in snow and causing an instant standstill as the rest of the Who's fell to pieces at the mention of the Grinch.

Naturally, the comparisons between her best friends and the snow stricken 'Whos' only grew at her internal resolution; If the Mayor who, an older impeccably dressed who with a mindless sniveling drone of a assistant, was not Cornelius Fudge, Hermione would begin adult classes in divination.

She and Severus turned to look at each other at the precise same moment, and shared a look of confirmation before laughing once more.

The lines between fiction and reality only blurred further from that point. The Mayor, capturing the town's panicked attention, was as swift as a seeker to deny any Grinch-caused disturbance.

"_Don't' tell me that your boys were not up on Mt Crumpet provoking the one creature within a billion billometres of here who hates Christmas!" _

"_But it was the Grinch"_ Both boys shouted in unison.

"_Oh no, no, no sir! The boys didn't see any Grinch. They were just up on the mountain, playing with matches, or, defacing public property." _

"_Ahh, well, that's a relief." _

Hermione hadn't been present at Harry's court hearing following the Dementor attack, but she wondered just how similar the dialogue would have been: What kind of court room mindlessly accepts the impossibility of a rogue Dementor.

"Fudge might've looked good with that hair you know." Hermione quipped, eager to continue the banter. It was endearing to see this rarely seen side of Severus, even if his reply was as simple as a snigger.

"Indeed."

The pair continued in this fashion, watching the movie advance while sharing simple asides and snarky comments- the snarky comments belonging purely to the Slytherin of course. Severus took undisguised delight as the Grinch saved the small Cindy Lou, only to then to reject her apology and case her head to toe in wrapping paper.

Hermione had hummed bemusedly. Everything from the girl's lack of fear, her determination to provide needless and unwelcomed thanks, and the Grinch's reluctance to be seen doing anything remotely nice, emulated the pair of them exactly; from the first few trysts of their secret liaison to this very moment, cuddling and watching soppy films under the guise of nonchalance and reluctance. If Severus saw the associations between them, he was purposefully refraining from comment, staying silent during that portion of the proceedings.

A silence that was swiftly broken: Had Hermione known the film boasted a sappy-soul-searching musical number Severus' reaction would have been far less amusing. As it was, his profound groan at the merest few opening notes was enough to set Hermione into a fit of coughing laughter. The grouchy wizard met her laughter with a resigned glare before climbing over her to retreat to the kitchen.

Still chuckling, Hermione smiled to herself as Cindy Lou continued to sing on screen. From the kitchen, faint sounds of the pantry being raided let her know Severus absence was not so much a fit of pique as a strategic act of avoidance.

She was sorely tempted to pause the scene until his return.

In the end she decided simply letting the song play through was punishment enough.

Hermione's own personal Grinch returned to the sofa just as his fictional furry counterpart returned to his lair up on the peak of Mt Crumpet. Rather than disturb her by lying full out on the couch once more, Severus took a seat and extended his long legs onto her coffee table, offering his lap as a pillow in compromise.

Hermione couldn't help but notice this position was really no better for observing his reactions; probably something he was well aware of.

With very little option, Hermione focused her attention again to the film and it's exceptional depiction of the Grinch's lair. Expecting a cave, or a bleak empty cavern, the expanse of elaborate machinery took her by surprise. Green backlights lit an area similar to a factory, operated on levers and pulleys to form a fully personalized living arrangement-cum-workspace.

"Before you say a word, even my lab is not quite that extravagant."

Hermione sniggered at his anticipation of her comment.

"But you clearly both share an appreciation of dramatics." She countered, her point emphasized as the Grinch staged an elaborate pantomime behind a dressing scene, then preceded to check his answering machine.

"_You have no messages."_

"_Odd; better check the out going." _

"_If you utter so much as one syllable, __**I'll hunt you down and gut you like a fish.**__ If you'd like to fax me, press the star key." _

Hermione thought, for possibly the first time ever, that it was probably a good thing Wizards hadn't embraced _every_ muggle invention.

Severus, while attempting to contain his smirk, simply raised an eyebrow at her comparison.

"I'm not dramatic at all." He stoutly insisted.

This time it was Hermione turn to snort.

As much as Hermione had been enjoying the light banter between them, the following few scenes were such that Severus' only input were a series of surprised murmurs lapsing into long moments of silence; The film, rather than launching straight into the Grinch's classic plot to steal Christmas, deviated from the traditional animations and instead followed the investigative exploits of little Cindy Lou.

Armed with nothing more than a tape recorder, the surprisingly insightful seven year old seemed intent on uncovering the story of the Grinch. Hermione grimaced at the image this concocted of her fourteen-year-old self assembling committee papers and S.P.E.W badges, and she grimly began expecting the Severus' observations on the matter.

Only for them to never come.

Severus was silent behind her, and seemed unusually intent on the young Cindy Lou as she set about interrogating two woolen covered old biddies. Relaxing once more against the warm wool of Severus' slacks, Hermione watched as the story of the Grinch unfolded.

Hermione's heart was swollen within five minutes. Why was she so damn affected by a movie aimed at children? As the scene changed from the arrival of the small who-oddity, wrapped in a bundle and left perched in a tree on a cold Christmas Eve, to that of a older, fur covered school boy, mocked by his peers, Hermione felt the corners of her eyes betray her. Embedding herself further in Severus' lap to hide the true extent of her weepy condition, Hermione missed the man's own reaction.

As the small, odd Grinch on screen sat, utterly enraptured at the stunningly pretty (and no doubt popular) Martha May, Hermione's mind was focused only on the plot. When the sickly smiling future Mayor, Augustus Maywho made an appearance as a schoolyard bully, Hermione thought only of the characterization. She watched the young green boy dedicate hours to making the Who girls' gift, in spite of the bully's threatening ridicule, and thought absolutely nothing of it; and when the Grinch, tormented and teased by the young Augustus, lost control, hurling the presents and Christmas tree against the wall, sending his classmates screaming in terror, and eventually sharing a last parting glance with the sorrowed Martha May, Hermione's thoughts- while full of pity for the furry creature- were still firmly centered in the grounds of fiction.

Severus', however, were not.

It took a moment or so for Hermione to notice the wizard's tensing form behind her. It was but the slightest of shifts in the room's atmosphere, imperceptible perhaps to anyone else, that tipped Hermione to the notion that something was wrong. Unwilling to display a lapse of truly Gryffindor blatancy, Hermione racked her mind, considering any possible triggers in the last five minutes. Was she hurting his leg? Was he bored with the film? He'd seen so interested only a scene or two ago, what on earth had brought this-

Oh.

Suddenly, the last sequence of film took on a new light in Hermione head. The young misfit, ridiculed by all but one brave pretty Gryffindor, who'd dedicated years and years to her, only to be forced aside by a jealous, cruel bully.

Admittedly, Hermione understood the tale was nowhere near as black and white; She understood that while Severus might see it so, there was no such thing as a blameless party. Still, she had never looked upon Sirius and Remus the same after learning of Severus' constant victimisation at Hogwarts. Even Harry, Sirius' constant defender and by absolutely no means a aficionado of the dreaded Snape, had qualms about the memory he'd witnessed.

Hermione kept her gaze fixed on the glowing screen in front of her, though no longer taking in the form of the young Grinch, climbing desperately up the dangerously steep mountain. Her attention was fixed on the man behind her, her own Grinch as he sat silently and stiffly against the couch. Hermione knew that at times like these, when quiet introspection caught him, an offhand remark or comment of light banter would only disturb him, and do nothing to bring him out of his reverie. Turning around and fretting over him would only make maters worse. Resolved that her present course of action -or rather, inaction- was for the best, Hermione attempted to retain her natural posture and seem oblivious. She was a terrible actor, but at these moments the man was far from focused on his immediate surroundings.

Hermione's resolution to continue viewing the film as before was easier said than done. Where before she could have watched the adult Grinch glare down at the tiny township, filled with bitter hate, and thought no more of it, now she only saw a reflection of the man she had slowly grown to care for, to care for immensely, even perhaps, possibly; to love.

The return of the narrator did very little to make things better:

"_So whatever the reason, his heart or his shoes,_

_He stood outside his cave, hating the Whos." _

Ten minutes earlier, Hermione wouldn't have faltered in issuing a reference to Severus' prior methods of teaching, as the Grinch stood atop the cliff face pronouncing his hate for all the Whos individually and alphabetically. Now, she needed no inducement to swallow the commentary. She wanted nothing more than to draw Severus against her and make the reflections go away, make him realize she was here with him, and that she cared for him, just as he was.

But she knew- being the smart witch she was- that it would be far simpler to draw water from a stone, using a needle plucked from a haystack.

So the two sat in silence as the screen swarmed with a mass of hysterically festive Whos, neither of them taking much in. Hermione tried to concentrate on the tiny Cindy Lou as she weaved her way between the crowds at the Christmas

'Whobilations', but ultimately her attention strayed until, with a start, she was brought back to the happenings on screen as the small girl let out a shrill shout.

"_I nominate the Grinch" _

Hermione knew she'd missed something, but it only took her a moment or two to catch up; the girl had nominated the Grinch- the veritable embodiment of anti-Christmas spirit, to be their Holiday Cheermister. Even with absolutely no idea as to what a Cheermister was supposed to be, Hermione knew the naive girls' nomination was a long shot.

God, the git had been right; if he was to be the Grinch, Hermione was the naive Cindy Lou, ready to fight a crowd of naysayers to give someone a second chance, tape recorder in hand, searching for all the facts. The resemblance only grew as the tiny girl quoted huge passages from 'The book of Who', entirely verbatim.

She spared a glance up at Severus, trying to gauge his reaction, only to see the beginning of a fierce scowl on his face. Not commenting, Hermione turned her attention back to the screen and attempted to figure out exactly what had prompted him into such a dark mood; surely the memory of his teenage years couldn't still affect him so strongly after everything else he'd been through in the last twenty years.

Hermione's lay puzzling out the strange scenario she now found her self in, and as a result missed an enormous slab of the film. When she snapped out of her reveries, no wiser for her efforts, the Narrator's voice was back again, dubbed over the image of the small Cindy Lou climbing up the inhospitable mountain.

"_The whipper winds whipped high above the who town,_

_A trip or a slip, you'd slide all the way down._

_But this girl had a mission; she knew what to do,_

_She'd invite the Grinch herself,_

_That brave Cindy Lou." _

Hermione only frowned at this. If she was meant to be Cindy Lou, the naïve girl on a fool's mission, why was she sitting next to her silent brooding man with absolutely no idea what to do?

Watching the tiny Who girl bang fruitlessly on the Grinch's door, her tiny voice no match for the howling wind or the violent clanging within, Hermione tried her hardest to shake the feeling of eerie representation. She therefore watched stonily as the girl gave up the fruitless attempts at delicacy and politeness, and simply broke her way through into the Grinch's lair. The odd identification was only growing, despite her attempts at squashing it. She watched cynically as the brave, tiny girl walked straight up to the fearsome Grinch, spoke pleasantly and proceeded to calmly withstand the Grinch's screaming rage and ire, without batting an eyelid.

No, Hermione was not Cindy Lou but at least in fiction, the little girl's methods held weight. Glancing once more at Severus, she noted that his expression seemed darker than ever. Opening her mouth, Hermione steeled herself to throw all subtlety aside- she was useless with it anyway- and get to the heart of the matter.

Only to promptly shut her mouth again.

She was not Cindy Lou and he was not the Grinch and most importantly real life was not fiction. There would be no 30-minute conversation followed by a stint of character development and a new insight into the meaning of Christmas. Letting out a silent sigh, Hermione instead took the opportunity to get up, stretch and move to the kitchen. Severus barely registered her movement, or if he did, chose not to comment. She couldn't help compare this Severus to the one who, only an hour ago, had instantly picked up on her own quiet reflective mood, and coaxed her out of it without a single word.

Making her trip back from the fridge, cold bottle of water in hand and two glasses, Hermione faltered mid stride at the sight of Severus now stiffly folded into the opposite corner of the lounge, avoiding eye contact and fairly glaring at the image of the Grinch politely talking with the little Cindy Lou. Hermione, walking in, mid sentence, and sitting down as though his change of seating arrangement was perfectly normal, strained to hear the last few sentence of the dialogue, desperately hoping to finally identify what had triggered the wizard so. The little Cindy Lou still seemed to be inviting the Grinch to the Holiday 'Whobilations'

"… _So will you come?" _

"_Oh, alright. I don't know if it's that adorable twinkle in your eye or that non-conformist streak that reminds me of a younger, less hairy, me, but you've convinced me! Who knows! This Whobilation could change my entire outlook on life!" _

"_Really!"_

"_No." _

For some reason, the sight of the small Cindy Lou being unceremoniously dropped down the garbage shaft didn't fill Hermione up with even the slightest bit of ominous premonition. For some reason, Hermione felt purely and singularly fed up.

Setting the glass bottle of water and glasses down on the coffee table with a thump, she lunged for the remote and without saying a word, paused the video mid shot. Without the blaring of the TV, the growing silence only served to amplify the tension of the room tenfold.

Hermione stubbornly sat at the furthermost edge of the lounge, turning to face Severus with her arms folded, waiting for him to acknowledge her. He stubbornly continued to stare at the ghostlike image of the Grinch now frozen to the screen. She could see the muscle of his jaw working as he kept it clamped shut, and his knuckles were drawn white as his hands formed fists. Hermione felt the hostility drain out of her as she let out a weary sigh.

"Severus. Talk to me." She wasn't going to do him the injustice of asking loaded questions or hurling accusations. Curling her legs against her chest and wrapping her arms around them, Hermione took in the sight of the man as he clearly battled with himself, still staring firmly at the television.

The silence only drew and Hermione began to work her lower lip between her teeth, worrying the fraying skin there, as the silence and the distance seemed to grow between them. Just as she considered prompting him again, or perhaps leaving the room for a moment, Severus shut his eyes and flung his head back as though pleading with the ceiling.

Hermione waited a little longer, teetering on the edge of the great silence that filled the room, practically feeling the minutes trickle through her fingers. When at last Severus snapped the subtle balance of the room, his words were drawn out and precise, as though a very painful tooth was being pulled by a very skillful dentist.

"I have… to go."

He hadn't even opened his eyes.

"What!" Hermione's outburst, unrestrained and automatic, was at such heavy odds with his carefully strung sentence, that the room seemed to reverberate with the words, leaving them hanging in the silence of the air as Severus so indomitably ignored them.

Hermione Granger was not going to be ignored. This was ridiculous. They'd had the most amazing week. The most lovely, peaceful week she could ever remember spending and a stupid sodding film was not going to tarnish that.

"What do you mean you have to go? Severus what's wrong? What've I done to upset you?" Hermione's words were frantic and earnest; arriving on her tongue before thought had tempered their meaning, but for all her haste, she'd finally drawn a rise.

Severus' head shot up, his eyes flashed open as he sprang from the couch, now pacing the small living room. Throwing her disbelieving glances his words shot out in great gushes now, though perhaps no less painful.

"You haven't done anything you silly girl, don't you see? "

"No, I bloody well do not see! Can you just tell me what's wrong? Everything was fine until we started watching the film. Severus, whatever it is, you can talk to me about it." Hermione rose slowly and walked across the sitting room, attempting to clasp his hands in hers and make him look at her. Maybe she could make him see she meant it, that she was earnest; that she wanted him to stay.

Before she got within two feet of him, Hermione was stopped in her tracks by the haunted look that had over come his face. This was not a problem of casual introspection, of morbid introspection. The look in his eyes wasn't that of a wounded animal. It was the look of a man prying a mangled baby dear from a set of gory steel traps. Hermione continued to lock eyes with him, but couldn't seem to cross the two feet between them. Her mouth felt dry and the room seemed so suddenly distant from the pair of them.

"Is it Lily?"

It was a fear Hermione had refused to acknowledge, had locked in the deepest corners of her mind, hidden in the shadows of her room while they lay beside each other at night; an unspoken truth in a conversation she'd half walked in on. Even now, it fell out of her lips, a mere whisper amplified in the silent room and she immediately wished to pull it back, to bury it down once more.

Severus' strangled groan was not an answer, but it spoke volumes.

"Because I can talk about that, if you want to, I do understand Severus, I do. She was, she is, a big part of your life and who you are and I mean, of course I'm here to talk about it –"

"Stop Hermione, just stop. I can't do this."

"What so that's it you're just going to leave?!" Hermione couldn't help the note of accusation that crept into her voice at this. Yes she was scared and she was confused and she didn't want to dredge anything up or spoil everything but dammit she was still here fighting and there was no way she would be walking out.

Perhaps Severus spotted this; perhaps the tone hadn't been accusatory so much as desperate. Perhaps he simply knew she wouldn't simply go away. He exhaled heavily before drawing himself up again, the simplest of motions and yet, to Hermione, the atmosphere of the entire room had changed, it felt as though it was charged with his energy, his presence, all focused entirely on her as his words came swifter and swifter forming an unstoppable tirade.

"It's not Lilly. It's not the damned film. I don't need a film to relive my Hogwarts _glory days_. Contrary to popular believe the thought of old grudges is not my sole sustenance, not my means of surviving. I know more than anyone that it's possible to forget and not forgive. But it's apparent that I_ do_ need a bloody film to make me come to my senses."

"What do you mean? Severus it's a children's film. You're not actually the bloody Grinch alright?" Hermione was at her wits end, trying to grasp where this unfathomable outburst had sprung from."

"No but you, you are the child! The blonde Cindy girl, set about with a mission to befriend the downtrodden outcast; a pledge, a project, an act of charity!"

Hermione stared open mouthed at the man now pacing the floor in front of her.

"And how could you not. That's you, that's your heart. You see the good in people, even when they can't see it in themselves. People laud you as the brightest witch of your age, but it's your heart, it's your heart that's the brightest thing about you. It's your heart that I'm abusing. You… Hermione. You deserve someone young and … you deserve… Dammit! You don't deserve a bitter twisted fool, full of hate. An old, bitter, twisted fool. You shouldn't be wasting your time with me, and I shouldn't be weak and selfish enough to let you. I have to… Hermione, I can't. I can't do this anymore."

Hermione had never seen his eyes so open. Standing there, her mouth open, her face blank and her brain, for once, entirely unable to string a sentence together, and that's all Hermione could think of. That his eyes were so open and pleading and utterly unguarded, for the very first time; and it was like this.

"You're not. You're not a project, you're not an act of charity. You're not… I'm not, Severus, just. Don't go, I want you. You're not twisted or bitter or…" Hermione trailed off her as words failed her, and Severus' face fell, interpreting the pause in the worst possible way before he stalked past her out of the small living room.

How could she say he wasn't bitter when he was? How could she deny his claim of hate-filled when this entire episode had been fuelled by his own self hatred? He was a bitter, old, fool; filled with hatred, but dammit she wanted him, she cared for him, she… she didn't know just what she felt, but she knew she felt something.

Turning to follow him, Hermione battled with her brain to get the words out of her mouth but her throat felt choked, her breath short, and as she went to reach out for him, he wrenched open the door and apparated from her doorway, leaving Hermione standing, staring out at the bleak snow covered street.

* * *

A/N there it is! Don't hate me, I did classify this fic as part angst. I know it's not the most festive of fics but I hope you all liked it anyway :) Please let me know what you think, your reviews make my day!

Happy Christmas!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I am not JKR**, [if she knew exactly what I got up to with her characters, she could disown me, so please, let's keep it our little secret ;)] **The Grinch is of couse the property of Dr Suess and the 2000 film holds all rights reserved to Universal Pictures**

**Note:** Ah Ha! While technically speaking the time-zones in Australia mean it is no longer Boxing Day, I have decided to abandon this yard stick and console myself in the fact that the Traffic stat graph thingy names the date as the 26th, and as such, I fulfilled my promise to update on Boxing day! Thanks to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed, and i'd like to point out that this is now my first officially complete fic! Hope you enjoy, and happy boxing day!

* * *

_And the Grinch, with his Grinch-feet ice cold in the snow,  
__stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so?  
__It came without ribbons. It came without tags.  
It came without packages, boxes or bags.  
And he puzzled and puzzled 'till his puzzler was sore.  
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before.  
What if Christmas, he thought,  
doesn't come from a store?  
What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?_

**Dr Suess**

* * *

For the first time that Christmas, Hermione noticed how beautifully decorated her street really was. The lights adorning the house fronts opposite her now, shone gaily against the dark night sky, the snowy ground shinning with the warm glow as windows up and down the street showed the glimmers of festivity within. The house opposite and to the left had their Christmas tree pressed directly onto the glass, showcasing the tiny flashing train at it's base and the fake-snow stenciling lining the windows.

The council had hung flags on the lamp posts, and the only sound beyond their flapping in the wind was that of toiling bells from the church Hermione knew lay unseen around the corner.

Standing numbly, her socked feet cold on the icy doorstop, Hermione felt her heart throb in her throat.

There she stood, alone on Christmas Eve, despite her exhaustive efforts to the contrary. Irony, it seemed, took no time off for the holidays.

Hermione couldn't tell what it was that kept her standing there. She didn't know what kept her rooted in the snow, staring down the mockingly empty street.

He wasn't coming back.

She knew that. She knew that even if he wanted to, Severus was a man beyond pride. That while there was no invisible tent or undisclosed location stopping him, no need for a deluminator to aid his return, Severus would not be coming down that street. A far greater force stopped him- his own sense of conviction. The idiot truly believed he was doing the right thing.

That leaving her standing in the snow with a throbbing hole threatening to swallow her chest and a clawing ache at the back of her throat was the right thing.

That she was better off with an empty apartment than the man who filled her heart with laughter; that delighted her mind and eased her troubles. That chased away the thoughts of being hunted, running and hiding, fearful for the lives of her friends and family, fearful for herself. The man who'd taught her she didn't need to be perfect; that even broken, even half put together and drenched in fears, she was wanted. She was adored, not just for her brain or for her fame but for herself- for everything.

And for her heart, as it turned out.

The same heart Hermione could feel slowly burning through her chest.

Still standing, staring at an empty street, taking in the candid beauty, the ice-cold air biting at her skin, something deep within Hermione snapped. A rage like she had never known suddenly coursed through her veins, not like fire, but ice. The hole bearing in on her chest thrummed with the frightening surge of her anger.

She was not going to let him do this. She was not going to stand helpless in the snow waiting for him to return. She was no longer a half-starved girl hiding in a tent. There were no snatchers, no death eaters, no ministry, standing between her and the stubborn frustrating man that had ripped this hole in her.

Resolved, Hermione slammed the door behind her, not bothering to fetch her coat or shoes, and spun swiftly into the cold thin air, twisting through the dark pressing tube of apparition and landing resolutely beneath the tall crooked structure of Spinner's End.

Sod his sense of conviction.

Hermione marched down the crooked cobbled street; it's dark and barren front in stark contrast to the festive boulevard she'd left behind her. Launching herself to the narrow dwelling at the very far end, Hermione climbed the stairs and hammered heavily at the peeling wooden door.

It was only the fact she had been keyed to his wards weeks ago that let Hermione this close. Anyone else would find themselves rebuffed a full three meters from the house.

When her knocking received no reply, Hermione cast a swift non-verbal Homenum revelio. The remaining wards smothered the tiniest, most imperceptible spark and were it not for the tingling feeling that crept up her wand arm, she was sure she would have misread the spell's result.

Hermione set her self against the door once more, yelling through the cracking wood as she knocked.

"I know you're in there you git, let me in!"

Losing her temper quickly, Hermione abandoned her attempts at knocking on the door and instead brandished her wand at the offending barrier.

"Bombarda!" She all but shrieked, uncaring to the empty street behind her.

The spell's only effect was to trigger the heavy warding the paranoid man kept in place, resulting in a tremendous backlash of sparks that rained down upon her from the brickwork. Hermione barely got her hands above her head in time. Stepping back onto the pavement behind her, she peered up into the window, trying to make out his figure behind the blind, straining to see a silhouette against the fraying, dusty curtains.

Hermione could imagine him, rooted in the entrance hall, listening against the door but held back by his damned skewed vision of 'the right thing to do'. Before her minds eye the vision of him less than an hour earlier appeared, his face twisted with a mix of guilt and pain. Hermione knew, beyond reason or doubt, that her wizard, her daft aggravating Severus, would be fixed with the same pained look now.

At this premonition, at the thought of him listening on, held back by guilt, Hermione let some of her anger decline, and instead addressed the still, uncaring face of the house.

"I know you're in there Severus. I'm not letting you do this. Not to you and not to me. I've told you, you're being daft."

Only the faint icy breeze rustling the branches above sounded in response.

"I want you. I am happy with you. There is nothing to protect me from, no reason to distance yourself. This, _now_, is upsetting me. I want to be with you, you idiot."

Again nothing could be heard from inside and Hermione's patience waned once more.

"Look, you don't get to decide what's best for me! I do! I will be the one deciding what I deserve, what makes me happy and- dammit it all to hell Severus Snape, if I say I want you, you snarky, bitter old fool, than you had better not stand in my way!"

She fairly bellowed this last pronouncement, and knew that had it's recipient been Harry or Ron, both boys would have emerged with their hands above their head, driven out by fear. As it was, Severus Snape was not afraid by her- only for her, and stupidly so.

When all her rage, her anger and somewhat more painfully, her sorrow and despair had flooded out of her, freed by her last roared words, Hermione felt a chilling empty feeling wash over her.

Perhaps this wasn't about sparing her at all. Perhaps that had been a carefully concealed cover to console her feelings. Perhaps he simply didn't want her the way she had imagined.

Hermione tried to stem the tide of self-doubt as she stood waiting in the snow. Now was not the time for self-pity. Now was not the time to give up.

But in the light of these growing doubts, Hermione felt more exposed than ever, standing in her stockinged feet alone in the snow and screaming at a seemingly empty house. A feeling that was not helped by the slowly trickling stream of tears now creeping down her face. She had no more words to give, nothing else to say to make him come out.

"Sever-rus." Her voiced cracked, and she gulped down the burning pressure at her throat before she attempted to continue. "Severus, Please. Please come home. I want you, I don't want anyone else."

Doubting he'd have even heard this last pleading cry, and somewhat thankful for it, Hermione took another step back, almost veering into the gutter.

"If, If you change you mind Severus, If you come to your senses, come and find me. If you want to, that is." Hermione called out, fighting the waver in her voice before deftly apparating away.

* * *

Severus sat, leaning with his back against the wall of his front entrance hall. With his head held in his hands and his elbows pressing down upon his updrawn knees, he was far from comfortable, but spared no thought for the cramped contortions of his body.

How could he have imagined she wouldn't follow him here and barge down the door?

How could the daft chit think he didn't want her?

Severus' resolve had almost cracked at the sharp wavering of her voice; he knew, without knowing how, that were he to look outside, the tears would stream down her lovely, puffy face, her lips pulled between her teeth to stop them from shaking. He wanted noting more, right then and there to storm outside and pull her against him, to smooth that troubled face and wrench the sadness from her voice.

The sadness he'd put there.

Eyes firmly shut, his long pale fingers pulling at the still somewhat greasy roots of his hair; Severus struggled to hold on to his resolve.

This was the right thing. Hermione was everything he had no claim to; She was light, she was brilliance and radiance and love.

She was pure love.

She didn't need to be weighed down by the likes of him. He would not let her waste that heart, that mind and that damning bloody youth on him.

So he'd ripped himself away, a clean break. He'd put the waver in her voice and the tears in her eyes and left her standing in the cold.

Because he was a bastard and she would have to find that out, one way or another.

* * *

Hermione hadn't returned to her flat. She didn't think she would be able to walk through those empty rooms, that damningly cheerful street. She wouldn't be able to sleep in her bed, not while the smell of him lined the sheets and the memories danced in the shadows. No.

Hermione Grangers was neither so strong nor so brave.

Transfiguring herself a rudimentary pair of shoes and summoning her warmest cloak to appear instantly before her, Hermione instead made her way to her second option, her Plan B. Walking through the icy muggle street, Hermione became conscious of the hour for the first time that night. It had to be at least two in the morning, judging from the sorry state of the legless Londoners winding their way home off the streets. Wiping her eyes of any tearful evidence, and hitching her coat up around her, Hermione hurried through the snow-covered pavement, finally arriving at the small muggle square. Ignoring the brightly shining Christmas lights that peered down at her, Hermione ascended the stairs and knocked firmly on the door of number 12 Grimauld place. Even with her firmest voice lecturing in her head, and the carefully constructed smile adorning her face, all it took was a sleep tousled Harry to groggily open the door before she broke out in tears.

* * *

If Harry hadn't bought her half sobbed story the night before, about being alone for Christmas and regretting her earlier decisions, he showed no sign of it this morning. As her messy haired friend brewed a much-needed cup of tea, Hermione strained herself to smile through Ginny's enthusiastic gestures of comfort and support. For all the red head implored Hermione's welcome at the Weasley's table today for Christmas lunch, as much as she conveyed her delight at now having her _entire_ family together, Hermione could only dwell on the Christmas morning she might have been having.

As Harry and Ginny lead her, arm in arm, into the Burrow's kitchen where Hermione was met with squeals of surprise and delight, the strain of maintaining a jovial front soon became daunting. Molly began fussing over her immediately, fretting in between motherly observations as to whether or not there would be enough food. Arthur and the rest of the Weasleys were equally (if less overbearingly) welcoming, and Ron, while devoid of a date, seemed nothing if not cordial.

Contrary to her expectations, the place was not coated in mistletoe.

Regardless of the festive atmosphere and the crush of friends bustling about her, or perhaps because of it, Hermione couldn't help but feel more alone than ever. Even as she smiled along and carried out jovial conversation, even as she ate and drank her fill, a small part of her felt detached from the proceeding.

As though that tiny piece were not with her at all, but instead locked in a cold, crooked house in Cokeworth.

Hermione attempted to banish the brooding thought, and put the allusions out of her mind. He had put himself there. She had nobusiness feeling sorry for the man, and she sternly told herself that she wouldn't.

Naturally, she failed miserably.

Even spurned, even riddled with self-doubt and a slow throbbing heartache, Hermione seemed unable to shake her concern for Severus. If he had torn himself away to stop her wasting her heart away on him, he'd been far too late.

The damage was done.

Hermione ended up leaving most of her lunch on her plate, retreating from the table to sit in the corner of the living room, engaging herself in an entirely one-sided conversation with Percy. It was nearly three o'clock. As draining as the festivities had been, as strained as her false cheery demeanor had become, Hermione willed the hands on the mantle clock to swing by slower. She didn't know if she was ready yet to creep back into her apartment. She knew the return would probably be accompanied by an inextinguishable ray of hope that maybe, that just maybe, Severus would have returned, that he'd be waiting for her on the door way steps.

And Hermione knew, unaccountably and beyond certainly, that that self same ray of hope would be the last straw. Because Severus would not be coming back, he was not going to change his mind and-

A knock at the Burrow's door stopped Hermione train of thought.

The slim ray of hope she'd denied herself all this while, the dim flicker she'd attempted to subdue, to bury down beneath the surface, shot up immediately. The dull roar of the Weasley's sitting room hushed to a low murmur as Harry dutifully got up to answer it.

Percy went on talking in her ear, oblivious to Hermione's intense concentration on the front door that lay just beyond her line of sight from her current vantage point. Straining to see further into the front hall, Hermione did her best to tune the droning boy out, only to fail miserably. Unable to see or hear the unexpected visitor, Hermione sat stiffly in her chair, her muscles strung like steel cords as she waited, aflame with useless damning hope.

She was a fool.

If there was no way the man would change his mind, than there was definitely no way he would barge into the middle of Christmas lunch at the burrow to take her back.

She was a fool, and what's worse was, she knew it.

Letting out a sigh, Hermione turned her attention back to Percy, doing her best to ignore the light prickling beginning at the corner of her eyes. She would have to make up some line and excuse herself, before she made an even more profound fool of her self. Opening her mouth to cease Percy's tirade, Hermione promptly snapped it shut again as the room fell silent.

Standing in the doorway, behind a clearly distracted Harry, a figure in black muggle slacks and a deep green sweater stared directly at her. Severus Snape stood surrounded by Weasley's, anxiously gripping a slim, wrapped, Christmas present.

Hermione was dimly aware of the tears trailing down her face, and the scrape of the chair as it was pushed aside, but all else in the room was a blur to her as she threw herself into Severus' useless, awkwardly placed arms.

Eventually, lifting her head from the now tear stained front of Severus' sweater, Hermione's brain crackled into life, realizing a plethora of factors all at once: The Weasley's standing gob smacked around them, Harry's eyes wide as saucers now staring at her, the scary laughing sobs seemingly emitted from her own chest, and perhaps most surprisingly, the long, firm arms that stretched around her, drawing her closer in, uncaring of anything else. Hermione knew how much it must have cost Severus, to throw away his pride, to abandon his slightly stupid convictions, and waltz in to the Burrow.

Smiling up at him, Hermione decided in a fit of near hysterical relief that the Weasleys could wait. Perhaps Severus had reached the same conclusion, for his grip only tightened as she twirled them both into the familiar tube of disaparation.

Landing the pair of them in the middle of her sitting room, Hermione refused to remove herself from Severus' embrace, and he showed no inclination to move either.

"You bloody git." Were the first sensible words from her mouth, and uttered as they were while she clung against his chest, the meaning was slightly undermined.

"I, I was, remiss… in leaving." Severus' own voice was hoarse and Hermione read the stilted formal words for what they were- the apology he still had trouble uttering, the apology rendered unnecessary by arriving at the Burrow.

"Too bloody right you were. Don't ever do that to me again Severus, I.,," Here Hermione staggered over the bulky words bottling up in the back of her throat.

"I was.. I… I didn't think you'd come back." This last confession came out as little more than a whisper and again Hermione buried her teary face in Severus chest, hiding herself as he tightened his arms around her.

"I came back as soon as you left my home last night. Only I came here. I got all the way upstairs before I realized you had left. I, confess, I thought perhaps you'd left anticipating my return."

"No! I was upset, I couldn't deal with an empty home, alone on Christmas Eve." Hermione smiled up at him, before noticing the stricken look that pained his face at her words.

"I shouldn't have left, not like that, not on Christmas eve." He struggled once more with this would be apology and Hermione only reached up a hand to soothe the lines that creased his forehead.

"No, you shouldn't have, you idiot. But you came back."

"It turns out I'm a thoroughly selfish being, Hermione. I couldn't tear myself away for all my good intentions." He replied soberly.

"Good."

As Severus' stared down at her, Hermione absently remarked that this face now, this look of awe and longing, would always be more open, more true than any mask of fear or pain. The thought was soon gone however as Severus leaned down and captured her lips passionately with his own, paying no mind to her puffy eyes or the tear tracks staining her frozen cheeks.

As the kiss broke, Hermione noticed for the first time, the slim packaged pressed uncomfortably against her ribs as he tightly held her. Reaching a hand down from around Severus' neck, she gently pulled the present from his grasp, raising an inquiring eyebrow as she did so.

"I… I wasn't entirely sure of what welcome I would receive. I thought, perhaps, this could postpone your temp- your _dismay_, until I got a chance to apologise."

Hermione registered his very first use of the word apology, and smiled shrewdly up at him.

"You were going to bribe me into forgiving you?"

Hermione realized then that she hadn't technically forgiven him just yet. Oh, she knew she would, indeed, she already had. But it was entirely too soon for her to formally relinquish that information. Buying time instead, her fingers deftly worked at the tightly wrapped parcel, ripping it as she fumbled with the paper slightly. Giving the whole operation up as a mess, she ripped off the wrapping paper, earning a snort of approval from Severus and revealing a brightly covered muggle VHS tape.

Staring down at the somewhat crude cartoon drawing of a Grinch, Hermione only stared up at Severus. His face was neither mocking, nor ironic and instead was filled with a beautiful, cautious, apprehension.

"I thought, if you liked, we could watch the original?"

"I'd love that, Severus."

* * *

A/N: God I hope it wasn't too soppy and too over done and too commercial but damn the rest to hell, it's christmas and if you can't have happy endings in fiction I'm afraid you simply wouldn't have them. I'd also like to credit the song _So Cold by Ben Cocks _which was put on repeat while I wrote this and is an absolutely fantastic song for any OTP :)


End file.
